


Quadrant

by AvaKelly



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Foursome, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, Polyamory, Stark Tower, hugs and kisses, soulmark au - freeform, soulmarks - freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:06:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5977867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where loving someone causes their unique soulmark tattoo to appear on his skin, Clint has been falling for too many people, but never has been loved back. So when he sees his mark on Bucky's shoulder, he can't really believe it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quadrant

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this](http://mileskane.tumblr.com/post/128408236606/au-where-everyone-is-born-with-a-very-unique).  
>  Send your cookies to [Catnip](http://catnipandjaegerpilots.tumblr.com/) for all those hours we spent plotting over this. Also thanks to [Gretel](http://mollynoble.tumblr.com/) and [Hansel](http://hrafnsvaengr.tumblr.com/) for the help with the spelling, grammar, world building, and incessant whining.  
> Thank you for reading!

_Soulmarks_. Everybody has one. It's a brand, an unique symbol that forms in the first twelve hours after birth on the left ankle. So far, there have been no cases of duplicates, not even recycling of symbols after death.

They call it _transference_ , the process through which feelings of love cause another's mark to appear on a person's skin. Fall for someone, and that someone's mark will pop up somewhere on your body. It's an universal law that has no exceptions.

The more religious people believe that feeling love toward someone means giving them a part of your soul, thus receiving a copy of their mark in return. The scientific community is still working on an explanation. Nevertheless, the fact is that loving someone means having their mark appear randomly on your own skin, never to wiped away. Not even surgery works.

Some people have a few marks collected over the years, others have none. And then there are those like Clint, who have too many.

With a grimace, Clint looks in the tall mirror that sits in his oversized closet in his Stark Tower room. If only the marks were of those he cares about as a friend, as a brother, as family. But no, they're all there to remind him how easily he falls for people that never love him back.

Except for Nat. Clint runs his fingertips over her mark, a bittersweet smile on his lips. She loves him, but not like he used to love her in the beginning. In time, his affection for her turned into one of brotherly cherish, and that's the love Nat has returned. Her body is still unmarred.

He moves his gaze away, looking at all the other marks. He has eleven already, and he's felt another one burn on his skin just now, as he was taking his shower. He's afraid to look, even though he already knows whose it is, so he postpones for a while.

There's Phil who recruited him, Bobbi who never loved him despite their brief marriage, the waitress in that gas station that gave him his first kiss, Sally in accounting, the nerdy guy that always came into his coffee shop while he was undercover, nurse Martha in medical that's happily married with four kids, Jared from the bookstore he staked out during a mission a few years back, Trip who he met in training.

After the Chitauri battle, Steve Rogers' mark popped up right in the middle of his chest. After SHIELD went down and they were hunting for the scepter Loki had used, Clint got to know Sam Wilson, and now he has his symbol etched into the bone of his right hip.

Clint takes a deep, trembling breath before he looks at his left shoulder. It's there, at the end of the collarbone.

 _Fuck_.

Six months ago he met James Barnes, 'brainwashed assassin extraordinaire' as Clint likes to joke, much to Steve's chagrin. It makes Bucky laugh, though, so he's going to keep doing it. Make fun of the bitter pain. He tried, Clint honest to every existing deity out there, including Thor, tried. But he still fell for Bucky.

And now, the three marks sit in a straight line across his body, left shoulder, the middle of his chest, right hip. He runs his hand over them, following the invisible thread that connects them, and he feels erased. Marked out of existence, the ultimate strike through.

With a swallow, he blinks, a fat tear plopping down to disappear into the carpet, just like Clint's disappearing into this sea of feelings, drowning in them, never finding an outlet. He's never had his soulmark matched on another's skin. He's never been loved, not like he loved, and it's overwhelming, with the newest addition.

It's _too much_.

It hurts.

~

Sam runs his fingers over his hips. He's never stopped wondering at the symmetry of his marks, four of them, two on each side. Clint's symbol sits on his left hip, the result of slowly getting to know Clint while tagging along Steve through Stark's gatherings, and Sam lifts a corner of his mouth in half a smirk. Across from it, there's Riley's. It's always a bit tinged with sadness, but he's promised himself he won't dwell on the loss, instead remember every happy moment they had together. Right beneath it, there's Bucky's, and that one had taken Sam by sheer surprise. One day he was introducing himself, the next he was gone for that pained smile Bucky turned at him when he'd sat up with Bucky through post nightmare tremors. Now, almost a year later, Bucky's a lot better than when he had allowed Steve and Sam to find him, a lot more open. Bucky is carrying Sam's symbol on the right side of his torso, right over his ribs, while Steve's is drawn on the small of Bucky's back.

Which brings Sam to his forth mark. He'd waited for this one for a long time, ever since that day Steve had run past him with awkward flirting. Sam had been smitten with his dorky smile on the spot, but somehow, the feeling had lingered on at the surface, never deepening, until they'd returned to New York six months ago. They were watching a movie in the common room, him, Steve, Bucky, and Clint, throwing popcorn at each other, when it happened - a warm look directed at Sam, followed by the familiar burn of a mark appearing on his skin.

Things have been complicated, still are. Sam sighs. Here he is, having fallen for not one, but three guys.

He had wanted to start something with Clint, at least ask him out once, but in the midst of searching for Bucky and the Avengers hunting for the scepter in HYDRA hideouts, there just hadn't been a good moment. After that, he and Steve had been busy with Bucky, hidden away in a remote safehouse.

That isn't the complicated bit, _oh no_.

See, Steve's marks are symmetric as well. Only his are etched over his spine, one beneath the other. It starts with Bucky's, then Peggy's, followed by Clint's and Sam's. And when Bucky had started recovering his lost memories, he and Steve had rekindled their interrupted connection.

Sam had been happy for them, though it wasn't ideal. He loved Bucky, but unless he got the same rapport with Steve, he wouldn't dare start a thing that would be unbalanced. Both of them deserve more than Sam taking just one side of the relationship.

Things had only gotten more convoluted with them living in the Stark Tower. Right around the time Steve's mark had appeared on Sam, Clint's had turned up on Bucky's shoulder.

He, Steve, and Bucky are carrying each other's, but now they all have Clint's as well.

And they have never seen Clint's body, because Clint doesn't even change clothes in the gym's locker room after a workout, always running off. How are they even supposed to bring this up with Clint? Steve and Bucky are together, but Sam's been biding his time, hoping that maybe he can have them all. He should stop deluding himself and be happy with Steve and Bucky. He cups Clint's mark with a deep inhale. He can't stifle the hoping, despite himself.

There's a knock on Sam's door, followed by Steve's voice.

"It's us, can we come in?"

"Yeah," Sam says after he pulls on a pair of sleep pants.

Bucky shoulders past Steve, beelines to the bed before sliding in under the comforter. He looks upset. Sam raises an eyebrow in silent question at Steve, but receives a shrug in return, so Sam goes to sit next to Bucky. He leans against the headboard with a sigh, runs his fingers through Bucky's hair.

"What's wrong?"

Bucky pushes the blanket down and turns on his back, slapping his hands on the mattress. "I tried," he says.

"Tried what?" Steve asks with a frown before sitting down as well on Bucky's other side, a leg danging off the side of the bed and the other bent under himself.

"Asked him to go dancing," Bucky grits, "and he said he'll give me a list of places."

Sam huffs with laughter.

"Not funny," Bucky grimaces before his eyes widen. He smacks Sam's thigh. "And you! When will you be with us?"

"I _am_ with you," Sam returns over Steve's groan. They've talked about this more than once already.

"Sam," Steve starts, but Bucky keeps talking.

"We want to kiss you," Bucky turns, lifting himself on an elbow. "Let me _love you_ ," he pleads, flesh fingers fisted in Sam's pants.

He looks so desperate, in this moment, liquid eyes piercing right through Sam's core, and he can't... he can't hold himself back anymore. Before he knows it, his lips are on Bucky's and, dear deities, it's so right.

 _So. Fucking. Good_.

And it's one simple press of lips.

When he looks up, Steve's staring at him wide eyed, the beginning of a smile pulling at his lips, mouth slightly agape. Bucky is grinning, and Sam grins back at him, contentment swirling through his chest.

"Sam," Steve whispers.

There's isn't need for more words right now, Sam knows what he's asking. He leans over, takes Steve's lips as well.

Hell yeah.

Still _so fucking right_.

There's a shuffle, when he leans back, and Sam finds himself on his back between the two supersoldiers, their arms tight around him.

"Wait," he breathes as Bucky nuzzles at the side of his neck and Steve snakes a leg around one of Sam's.

The long sigh Bucky lets out tickles his skin and Sam wiggles until he can wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders.

"I just need to know if there's a chance with Clint first," Sam says. Perhaps it's time to put this to rest. "If there isn't, then... it will be just the three of us."

Steve leans back to look at him. "Promise?"

Sam nods and Steve intertwines their fingers.

"We should just ask," Bucky mutters.

Well, it's an option, although Steve has been adamant about leaving that as a last resort. He's still not doing well with straightforward rejection and Sam gets it. But maybe Steve doesn't have to be there when... oh, here's an idea.

"How about we show him one of our marks?" he offers.

"He's gonna see all of mine and all of yours and he'll think we've lost our minds," Steve counters. "How many people do you know able to love three others the same way at the same time?"

He's right, Sam's gotta agree with that. Marks appear when love does, but they never fade like the feelings do. Polyamorous people are still not that common.

"How about mine?" Bucky asks. "Without sleeves he can see my shoulder, and the rest stays hidden."

Now, that sounds like the beginning of a plan. Test the waters, see where Clint stands, then go from there.

~

Clint rolls his shoulders as he walks toward the kitchen. He isn't even half awake yet and he needs as much coffee as he can find. He's not proud to admit it, but he's managed to cry himself to sleep the night before, and now his head feels heavy, his limbs numb. He doesn't know where to go from here. Leaving the Avengers altogether looks like the best option right now, but he's so tired of running. He's been good here, he's been surrounded by friends, and it's started to feel like home.

With an inhale, he shuffles into the kitchen.

"Aw, baby," he whispers when he sees the almost full pot.

At least the coffee maker doesn't hate him, and Clint pats its side gently before taking a seat at the counter with the pot in his hands. Sweet, bitter, sweetness. Ok, he's still not awake, but getting there. He's halfway through the pot before he notices he's not alone in the kitchen. Clint blinks fast. Uh... Bucky's here. Cooking... something.

"Morning," Clint rasps. Or more like he tries, but an incoherent mumble comes out.

He gets a smile as Bucky turns around and sets a plate in front of Clint.

 _Aw, smile_. Clint's heart flips in his chest and he covers it by taking another mouthful.

"Morning," Bucky says. "You took all my coffee."

Clint shrugs, hugging the pot closer, and Bucky laughs at that. He has a very nice laugh, he should do that more.

"I'll trade you the pot for this mug," comes next as Bucky tugs on the handle, and Clint lets him take it.

Bucky pours the rest of the coffee in the mug, pushes it back into Clint's hands and turns to restart the coffee maker.

That's when Clint sees it. On Bucky's right shoulder, peeking out from under the strap of his black tank top. Clint's arrow mark. He has to rub his eyes three times before he believes this image isn't fake. But he's not imagining it, it's real.

It's his mark on another's skin.

No, _it can't be_... except that _it is_. It's right there, and Clint presses his trembling fingers over his own lips. His vision blurs and he should walk out, now, before Bucky sees, but his legs refuse to move.

Right on cue, Bucky turns, the remnants of the laughter still playing on his lips, his eyes warm as they settle on Clint. It dawns on him, that he might be loved. There's a chance Clint is loved right back and a sob shakes him with the relief of the realization.

"Hey!" Bucky's right there, fingers grasping Clint's shoulder right over his mark. "What's wrong?"

He'd like to explain, but the words are stuck in his throat and he can't face Bucky right now, so he buries his head under his arms, presses his forehead into the wood of the counter.

"Clint," Bucky says again.

Clint won't... _can't_ look at him.

His body shakes with tears that he can't stop. He hasn't expected something like this. He's been starting to accept that it would never happen and now... now... Clint's can't breathe, drawing air in gasps.

"I'm sorry if my mark upset you," Bucky says, his fingers still on Clint's shoulder. "But I'm not sorry for loving you."

 _Fuck_. It's true, it's fucking true, and another sob travels out of Clint's throat. It's choking him, but it feels so good at the same time.

The hand on his shoulder, though, lifts away, along with Bucky's mumbled "I'll leave you alone."

It's not what he wants, so Clint moves, catches his wrist. He drags Bucky back, hugging his forearm close to his chest, and he presses his cheek against Bucky's knuckles, eyes squeezed shut. He just needs to get himself back together enough to tell Bucky that yes, Clint loves him, too.

A beat, and Bucky's metal arm comes around Clint, and soon Clint is squeezed tightly, held close. It's amazing, warming him from the inside.

It takes a while, but the sobs slowly subside, Bucky's lips on his temple, his fingers gentle in Clint's hair, soft crooning in his ear.

Just then Clint's stomach growls, loudly.

Bucky leans back with a laugh, and Clint can't help but match it, while he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Eat," Bucky says, nudging the plate closer to Clint.

It's Clint's favorite egg scramble. After this incredibly embarrassing bout of crying, he doesn't think he could even swallow without gagging, but the food is so good, so smooth.

"'s amazing," he mumbles, mouth full.

Bucky winks at him as he sits down with his own plate.

Clint finishes his food before Bucky does, and he sits there watching, twisting his mug in his hand. He has to tell Bucky that yes, Clint feels the same, but the words refuse to form on his tongue. He has to do something, though, and the only other way is to just show him. So Clint downs the rest of his coffee, takes a deep breath, and then he unzips his hoodie before pushing at the collar of his t-shirt.

It takes maybe two seconds before Bucky notices, and he freezes there, fork in mid air between his mouth and the plate. Clint clears his throat, maybe this isn't something Bucky wants, maybe he doesn't want Clint's affection... but then, Bucky's face fills with such wonder, that Clint's insides squirm pleasantly for a change.

With a huff, Bucky smiles, and he presses his flesh palm on Clint's skin, right over his mark, the fork still suspended between his metal fingers. Clint can't help but smile back. Bucky's acceptance is making his heart pang sweetly in his chest. He'd never thought it would be like this. Never understood what it meant to love and be loved in return. It's incredible.

~

"So, what now?" Clint asks, his fingers pressing on the back of Bucky's hand.

Ah, this elation. Bucky hasn't been expecting Clint to even acknowledge Bucky's fondness, yet here he is now, his mark on Clint's skin. He's been relieved by Steve's, awed by Sam's, and now... now it almost feels like he's floating.

However. Clint only bears Bucky's mark, and there are Steve and Sam to consider. Bucky won't hurt either of them, even if he has a chance with Clint. This, he can't decide this on his own, they all need to have a talk. If the past months have taught him anything, is that being open will yield better results for his battered psyche. It's been Steve's honesty to pull him back from a dark edge more than once, it's been Sam's willingness to answer all of Bucky's invasive questions that have kept him from falling apart night after night. It's been Clint's unprejudiced friendliness that has brought mirth to his days.

"I get it," Clint says quietly, turning away.

Bucky must have been silent for longer than he thought. He blinks. Clint's staring at the counter in front of him, and why are is hands shaking? Bucky shifts to grip one, but Clint snatches both away, shoves them between his thighs. His shoulders are hunched, and Bucky's heart gives a pained flop. See, this is why Sam and Steve should be here for this talk.

"It's complicated," he returns. "We need to talk--"

"You're with Steve," Clint interrupts. "I kinda suspected."

"It's not..." Bucky groans, rubs at his forehead while placing his forgotten fork down. "We need to talk," he repeats as clearly as he can.

Clint curls even more into himself, and Bucky stops himself from swearing out loud.

"Look," he continues, "why don't you go wash your face? And then meet me in my room in half an hour?"

He receives a head shake in return. "It's ok," Clint says, "I get it."

"No, _you don't_ ," Bucky grits, and that makes Clint turn startled eyes at him. "Please, Clint. We really need to talk. Go clear your head first, yeah?"

It takes a few beats, but then Clint blinks quickly. "Ok," he breathes.

He looks a little wobbly as he walks out, and Bucky stabs at his breakfast with a deep inhale. He lets the air out of his lungs carefully, then he takes his time to finish his food, slowing down his increased heart rate with every chew.

By the time he washes the dishes, his mind is free of the tangle of emotions swirling inside, and he goes to see Steve and Sam who are waiting for him in the common areas of their quarters. Bucky really likes it, it has a couple of sofas, a huge screen on a wall, and it leads into all of their bedrooms. He has both Sam and Steve close while also having where to retreat if he needs to be alone. It's a good arrangement.

"So?" Steve asks the moment Bucky steps in, halting his pacing.

Sam raises both eyebrows from where he's sitting on a couch, elbows on knees. Bucky can't stop the smile that pulls at his lips.

"He has my mark," he whispers. Steve opens his mouth, no doubt to ask about his and Sam's, but Bucky raises his hand. "I don't know about yours. I asked him to come here to talk," and he checks his his phone for the time. "He should be here in about ten minutes."

Steve takes a deep breath, while Sam nods.

"How do you wanna play this?" Sam asks Bucky.

Bucky waves helplessly. He wants to build something with Clint, but he doesn't want to leave the other two out of it. He wants all of them.

Sam smiles kindly at him. "You want it all," he says just as Steve sinks into the sofa next to him.

"Me too," Steve adds, while Bucky nods.

"Ok, so we explain it to him," Sam continues. "We'll show him our marks, tell him everything. We all love him, and if he wants to only be with Bucky, I'm down with it. I just want him to accept that we're all in this."

Steve is silent, watching Bucky intently, and Bucky swallows. He doesn't have time to get too nervous, though, because Steve smiles at him, that private little thing that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Same here, Buck," Steve says, and Bucky's shoulders slump with relief.

He moves to sit on Steve's other side.

"He cried," Bucky says.

"What" and "why" come at the same time from the other two and Bucky rubs his palm over his face.

"I think it took him by surprise," Bucky says. "Was like he couldn't believe it, like that time you first saw your mark on me, remember?" he asks Steve.

Steve huffs. "Of course I remember," he replies and Bucky kisses his cheek. "Never thought I'd _ever_ be loved back."

Across from Steve, Sam frowns. "You think the same happened to Clint?"

"I hope not," Steve sighs. "It's an awful feeling."

The knock on the door propels them all out of their seats. Steve runs his fingers through his hair, Sam wipes his palms on his pants, and Bucky shoves both hands in his pockets before shouting a "yeah" that's thankfully not trembling.

~

Clint almost doesn't knock, but he steels himself. There are a million thoughts running through his head, a myriad of possibilities, of what could go wrong, of how it's going to break his heart... but he forces himself to go forward, face this, wherever it may lead.

"Yeah," Bucky says from the other side and Clint opens the door before he has a chance to change his mind.

He's met with the sight of Sam and Steve standing next to Bucky. What is this... do they _know_? Fuck.

"What's going on?" he asks.

Sam waves at the sofa across from them. "Please."

He doesn't know how he manages, but he walks there, sits on the edge of the cushion, while the other three take seats on the other couch. Silence descends and Clint swallows, watching them as they watch him, elbows on knees, their faces entirely too serious.

This doesn't look good.

Steve clears his throat, but then he huffs with what might be a laugh. He runs his palms over his thighs. "I don't even know how to start."

Next to him, Bucky rubs at Steve's back, and Steve leans into the touch, closing his eyes. So they really are together. Clint has suspected, but since Steve and Bucky haven't been acting like this in front of others, he couldn't have been completely sure. Now he is. He doesn't understand why Sam's here, though. Perhaps for damage control? But Clint won't put himself between them, they have nothing to worry.

"I know what you're gonna say, and it's ok," Clint breathes. "I get it."

Steve's head snaps up, eyes wide, and there's relief on his face. It twists Clint's stomach, though. He though he had a chance, finally, but it seems not.

"I won't bother you," he manages.

This is worse than a nightmare. All three objects of his affection are here, in this room, and for what? To tell Clint he's not... he's not... He can't look at them anymore, can't. So he musters up every last ounce of strength he has, forces his feet to move, off the sofa and out of the room, but his knees give out half way to the door.

He doesn't hit the floor, though, because strong arms catch him, and Clint grips onto the metal of Bucky's hand despite himself.

"Why?" he gasps. "Didn't think you were this cruel," and he pushes at Bucky. He needs to get away.

His vision fades into darkness, air thinning out around the room, and it sucks Clint with it, until he's stretched and compressed and can't feel his own body anymore.

"Hey, Clint."

Sam's voice.

"Look at me. Clint, look at me."

Sam is so kind.

"I need you to breathe for me, ok?"

He can breathe for Sam.

"That's it, come on, steady."

Clint's on the sofa. He doesn't remember how he got here, but he's sitting on soft pillows, Sam on his knees next to him, and his hands are _so warm_ on his shoulders.

"You back with me?" Sam asks.

With a painful swallow against his dry throat, Clint nods. His hands are shaking, his entire body feels put through the strainer, and there's a heavy pressure building in the middle of his forehead.

"I'll get you some water," Sam says, "stay here, ok?"

It's not like Clint can go anywhere right now. But when he looks around, the room is empty. He blinks a few times, to make sure he's not imagining things, while Sam returns with a glass. He hands it over before sitting back down, sideways on the couch, an elbow resting on the backrest, his fingers rubbing at his chin. Clint focuses on the water instead of the way Sam's lips press against each other. He finishes it too soon, so he ends up twirling the empty glass in his hands just to have something to do, grateful that the trembles have subsided.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Sam asks.

Clint shakes his head without pause.

"Wanna know what I think happened?"

He shakes his head again.

Sam huffs. "I'll tell you anyway. I think you misunderstood."

Clint eyes snap at him of their own accord. There's worry on Sam's face, a half formed frown drawing a crease between his eyebrows.

"You remember that time Tony insisted we play spin-the-bottle? When Natasha tongued Pepper in retaliation because Tony made them kiss?"

Clint snorts. Of course he remembers. That was the night he got Sam's mark.

"That was when I got your mark."

Did Clint say that out loud? But no, the words carried over in Sam's voice.

"Look," Sam says, straightening.

He pulls at the drawstring of his sweatpants until it's loose enough to push one side down, revealing his left hip. There are two marks there, one is Steve's, and above it, his.

"I know this will be a lot to take in," Sam continues, pulling the pants back up, before Clint can even open his mouth. "The feelings that come with this," he pats at his hip, "didn't fade away. I'm just as in love with you as Bucky is."

"What--"

"I'm not finished," Sam says and Clint snaps his mouth closed.

He grips at the other side of the hem, reveals his right hip. Two more marks, and Clint can see Bucky's below one he doesn't recognize.

"How..." he breathes.

With a head shake, Sam shrugs. "I don't know, man. I never thought I'd be into three people at the same time."

"I think I'm dreaming," Clint rasps, rubbing at his forehead.

"Tell me about it," Sam says as he leans back on his heels. "It's the mother of all coincidences."

A barked out laugh leaves Clint's throat before he can stop it. Sam has no idea.

"And now for the kicker," comes next and Clint stills.

"There's more?"

Sam nods slowly, his dark eyelashes shifting with the movement of his eyelids. "Steve shares our marks," he says.

Oh. Oh... he gets it. The three of them, they're together. It brings a smile to his lips, even though it's pained. They fit each other wonderfully, they deserve to be happy. He won't come between them. So Clint nods, and that makes Sam return his smile, although it looks a little sad.

He turns his attention back to the glass in his hands, and silence stretches between them for a while before Sam speaks again.

"You're taking this really well," Sam says. "I mean, it's not every day that someone tells you Captain America's in love with you. I thought you'd be at least a little surprised."

 _Wait_. Back that up.

"What?" Clint looks at Sam and is met with raised eyebrows.

"Me, and Steve, and Bucky," Sam repeats, poking one palm with his other index finger, punctuating the words, "we all love you."

"No," comes out of Clint's mouth, because this is a dream. Definitely a dream. He's had it before.

"Yes," Sam returns.

"No," Clint's eyes widen. Why isn't he waking up.

"Clint."

He tries, he really tries, but he only manages to make his lips move, no words forming on his tongue. Sam sighs. He stands up, goes to open one of the doors leading further into the quarters.

"Can you come here and show him?" Sam says, and returns followed by Steve.

Behind them, Bucky leans into the door frame, but Clint's attention is drawn back to Sam when the glass is plucked out of his hand, put aside.

"Look," Sam says, waving a hand at Steve.

That's when Steve twists around, pulling his t-shirt off with a fluid motion... they sit there, along his spine, in a row that starts below the base of his neck. Clint's is third. He's up the sofa before he knows it, and he runs his fingers over his own mark.

"How?" he breathes, Steve's muscles bunching beneath his touch.

"You're a lovable guy," Bucky says from the side.

"This isn't real," Clint insists. He's going to wake up any minute now. Any second.

"Unfortunately, it's true," Steve says as he turns around. His mouth is set in a half grimace, jaw clenched tight.

Unfortu... _what_? But Sam speaks again before Clint can.

"What we had to tell you was that if you and Bucky want to start something, we're ok with it. But in turn you have to be ok with the three of us together."

Clint opens his mouth, but then he presses his hand over it.

"We won't ask anything of you," Steve says as he redresses.

"Our feelings are our own," Sam continues, "but we can't shut them off. Just know that we want you to be happy."

They have no idea.

If this is a dream, fuck it and the universe and everything altogether. If this is a dream, Clint doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't think he could stand the disappointment.

But if this isn't an elaborate hallucination, then... Clint scrambles to pop open the top two buttons his jeans, and he pulls at them to show the mark on his hip with his right hand, while pushing his t-shirt up with the other.

~

When Steve was seventeen, he found Bucky's mark on his back. He was devastated, at the time. Bucky had all the dates, he was sought after, everyone wanted his company. There had been no way that Steve could have competed against all that. So when the war started and being drafted became a possibility, when Bucky took him aside and showed him Steve's mark on his skin, Steve had cried, ugly and snotty, relieved. Peggy's mark popped up the minute she found him a plane to go after Bucky's battalion, with a burn so intense it lingered for days. Bucky had understood, and to this day Steve doesn't know how he was so lucky to have such a wonderful man to carry his own mark. Losing him meant losing himself, so he had let go of everything, including Peggy, when he brought that plane down.

He wasn't even two months out of the ice when he got his third mark, Clint's. It felt like a big, juicy slap from the universe - here's another person that you can lose. So Steve had said nothing and Clint had disappeared, most likely to deal with the effects Loki's scepter had had on him. Steve had gotten too busy absorbing this new world, kept himself from thinking of Clint by running missions for SHIELD. And then there was Sam, who'd been such a good friend, that Steve didn't even register when he fell for him. It had taken him a while to accept all these feelings that never go away, for all four owners of his marks, to believe that yes, Bucky and Sam feel the same toward him.

Now, as he stands here looking at Clint's chest, his mark right in the middle of it, he feels suddenly lighter.

"Do you still--" he starts.

"Yes," Clint says immediately.

It brings a smile to his lips that matches the small laugh coming from Sam next to him. Clint's shoulders slump as he straightens his clothes, then he takes a step back, tries to sit on the couch, but misses the edge of the cushion and slides to the floor.

"Aw," Clint says as he covers his face with both palms.

Steve's already halfway to Clint, and he kneels in front of him.

"You ok there?" Bucky asks.

Clint nods from behind his hands, mutters something unintelligible. With raised eyebrows, Steve exchanges looks with Bucky and Sam, but then a sniffle comes from Clint, and Steve's attention is drawn back to him. Clint pulls his knees to his chest, hides his face still covered by his palms between them. There's a slight tremor in his shoulders, and a pang of hurt travels through Steve. How long has Clint been carrying their marks, how long has he been silent, how long has he been alone with his feelings...

Steve reaches out, runs his fingers through Clint's hair, rubbing gently at the top of his head. On either side, Bucky and Sam settle down.

It's long minutes before Clint finally raises his head. His eyes are wet, but his cheeks aren't, they just sport of shade of heated red. He looks dried out, and Steve shudders, knowing exactly how that goes, when crying too much turns into tearless sobs that are more of a pain that a relief. Clint must have done it even before the earlier bout in the kitchen with Bucky.

Fuck, Clint's been through the ringer today. He needs a rest.

To his left, Bucky raises to his feet, then returns with more water and a box of tissues that he hands over to Clint. Steve looks at Sam, asking silently for advice, shifting his eyes from Clint to his bedroom, and Sam nods. All right then. Steve stands, squeezes Bucky's hand and receives a smile in return.

"Come on," he tells Clint and hauls him up.

Clint looks around himself in confusion, but lets Steve drag him away into his bedroom, sits on the bed when Steve maneuvers him there. He's still holding onto the glass and tissues, and Steve takes them from his hands, places the items on a nightstand.

"What's going on," Clint asks, voice raspy, when Steve crouches down to remove Clint's sneakers.

"We're taking a nap," he says. "Or just lying down to rest if you can't sleep."

"Ok," Clint breathes, allows himself to be pushed onto the bed, arranged under the comforter.

Steve slides in next to him, settles on his side facing Clint, watches his profile for long seconds. Finally, Clint turns to him, and Steve raises his arm. A beat, then Clint rolls closer, lets himself be enveloped in Steve, and he leans his forehead on Steve's collarbone with a sigh.

They stay like that for a long while, Steve running his palm over Clint's back.

"It feels like I'm dreaming," Clint whispers.

"You're not dreaming," Steve returns, a smile playing on his lips.

"Feels like it," Clint repeats, pressing closer.

Steve squeezes him tighter, kisses the top of his head. "It's not a dream. I'm in love you," he says and Clint shudders in his arms. "Been for a very long time."

Clint snakes a hand between them, splays his palm over Steve's heart. "Since when?" he asks.

"You remember that moment when we were flying into the city to fight the Chitauri?"

"Yeah?"

"That's when," Steve says.

"Why..." Clint breathes, pushing his face closer into Steve's chest.

A huff travels out of Steve's throat. "Because you jumped right into the fight even though you must have been _so tired_. You followed me, trusted me, treated me like a human being instead of an experiment or a legend."

At that, Clint pushes back to look at Steve. His eyes are a little too bright as he swallows.

"I meant why didn't you say anything," he says, wonder settling onto his face, and Steve smiles at him. But Clint speaks again before he can say anything. "That's when I got yours. You trusted me even after I almost killed you all."

"Aren't we a pair?" Steve's smile turns into a light laugh.

Clint blinks at him, but then joins the mirth. "It's been two years."

"I know," Steve says.

"I've loved you all this time," comes next and it sends a wave of warmth through all of Steve bones.

"I want to kiss you," he returns, his hand traveling up to cup Clint's cheek.

Clint bites his lower lip and Steve uses his thumb to pull it gently from between his teeth.

"Sam and Bucky won't mind?" Clint asks.

"No," Steve returns with a head shake. "They'll want to kiss you, too, if you'll be willing."

Clint considers this, then he nods ever so slightly. "Yeah," he breathes, leaning closer, and Steve closes the distance between them.

~

"You wanna be in there," Sam says, watching Bucky as he stares at the closed door of Steve's bedroom.

Bucky rolls his eyes at himself with a long exhale and that makes Sam chuckle.

"I wanna be there, too," Sam returns. "But it's gotta be overwhelming for him," and Bucky nods.

Yeah, he gets it.

"Do you wanna come here and kiss me until I'm breathless?" Sam asks.

It takes about a full second for the words to register, and the thought propels Bucky out of his seat. He leans over Sam, arms braced against the backrest on either side of his shoulders.

"Really?" he whispers.

Sam hums, pulling at Bucky until he's seated on his legs. "I promised, didn't I?" he smiles and Bucky matches it. "I mean, we're gonna have to talk to Clint about what he wants, but--"

Ah, Sam's lips are the softest thing that's ever touched his mouth. They are even silkier than Steve's, don't even compare to Bucky's chapped ones. Yet, here he is, allowed to kiss. He does just that, peppering small nips among pecks, drinking Sam in like he's air. Sam smiles against his lips, Bucky matches it, and soon they're laughing lightly.

"'m happy," Sam murmurs while wrapping Bucky in a hug.

He squeezes tightly in returns, nods against the side of Sam's neck. They stay like that for a long while, long enough that Bucky almost dozes off, and he startles awake with a jolt when Steve opens the door of the bedroom.

They disentangle and then follow Steve back in when he tips his chin at them. Clint is sitting against the headboard, hands locked in his lap. He looks a little better.

Bucky settles at the end of the bed, cross legged, and offers him a smile that is returned.

"Time for the talk," Steve says from behind him, before he moves to lean onto the window sill, arms crossed.

A small laugh comes from Sam as he sits on the armchair on the left. "Man, this is gonna suck the romance out of it, but it's four of us," he says, "so we need to be clear about what we want."

"Yeah," Clint returns and Bucky nods.

"Ok," Sam adds, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I'll start, then." He looks at them for a beat, licks his lips. "I want to be with all of you. The three of us," he tells Clint, "have talked about this already. I know it might sound selfish, but..." he waves his fingers in explanation.

"Same here," Steve says.

"Me too," Bucky adds.

"Three people is a lot," Sam continues. "But we all care for each other, and as long as we remember that, I think we can make it work. What do you say?"

Clint blinks slowly, looking at each of them in turn. He sighs, hanging his head and picks at the fabric of his pants for a while.

"Last night I went to bed thinking this will never happen, and now..." he trails off, closing his eyes. Bucky wants to hold him quite badly. "I have a lot of marks," Clint continues, voice cracking. "If you can stomach that, then yes."

"Why wouldn't we?" Steve says as he pads to the bed, sits on the edge.

Clint shrugs.

"There's nothing shameful about love," Sam adds.

"Your past loves don't erase us," Bucky says and Clint looks up at him.

His eyes are so hopeful, that it twists Bucky's stomach. He's had it easier with Steve and Sam.

"Look," Steve says. "We know what it means to need time alone. We also know what it means to not want to be alone. You'll have the three of us, so that if two are busy, there will always be one of us there for you."

"We wanna spend time together," Sam stands and walks closer as well, "but we wanna spend time one on one as well. Between the three of us, you can have everything you need."

Clint's eyes have grown gradually wider as they've been speaking, mouth falling open with every word. "You don't have to sell it to me," he whispers, "I want--" he stops, draws in a breath. "I just... I can't believe you'd want me like that."

Sam raises both hands in the air.

"But you want us, yes?" Bucky asks, placing his metal hand on Clint's crossed ankles.

"Yes," Clint says, so quietly that it's nearly inaudible.

The smile that catches onto Bucky's lips is so wide, it's almost painful on his cheeks. "Dibs on first kiss," he says and receives a "hey" from Sam while Steve snorts with a laugh.

Clint's entire face warms as he smiles back at Bucky. "Steve got that one," he says.

"Shame on you, Steven," Sam mutters.

But Bucky's already crawling closer toward Clint's extended hand. The kiss they share is light and too short, but so gentle, it tightens Bucky's chest pleasantly.

"Really," Sam's voice drifts over. "So that's how it's gonna be."

Clint grins at Sam when Bucky leans back. Steve catches Bucky against his chest, arms coming around him, before pressing a peck to Bucky's temple.

"I'll show you how Nat does that thigh thing," Clint tells Sam, waving him closer.

Sam sticks his tongue out at Steve and Bucky as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hip against Clint's, and Steve mock gasps.

They're beautiful, together like that, Sam and Clint. Bucky watches, intertwining his fingers through Steve's where they rest around his middle, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

When he'd found Sam's mark on his ribs, he hadn't allowed himself to hope for this. More so when Clint's had appeared, even when Steve had tried to stay positive, that yes, there might be a chance. But here they are today, the quadrants of a circle that's now fully formed. Bucky settles into Steve's warmth, chuckles at Sam's mirth as he tries to make Steve pout, revels in the affection Clint's gaze turns at him.

He feels _whole_.

Gratified.

 

~End~


End file.
